GIFT FOR THE HOLIDAYS. We are Growing Old. WE are growing old-how the thought will rise It may be the shrine of our early vows, But it seems like a far-off isle to us, In the stormy sea of years. Oh! wide and wild are the waves that part For deep o'er many a stately bark Have the whelming billows rolled That steered with us from that early mark,— Oh, friends! we are growing old! A Friend. ANONYMOUS. POOR is the friendless master of a world; YOUNG. The Two Oceans. Two seas amid the night, In the moonshine roll and sparkle, The one has a billowy motion, And from land to land it gleams; The one with murmur and roar Bears fleets round coast and islet; The other, without a shore, Ne'er knew the track of a pilot. STERLING. Lobe's Sympathy. THERE is a secret sympathy in love; The powerful loadstone cannot move a straw, No more than jet the trembling needle draw. SEDLEY. The Streamlet. How silently yon streamlet slides In sunshine through its dreaming flowers! That tranquil wave, now turned to gold It is the same, The leaden sky-the barren waste- Ah thus, should Life and Love at last May we, our course of trial passed, Thus bathed in beauty, pass from here. C. F. HOFFMAN. Lines to a Lady. MAIDEN! with the fair brown tresses Youthful years and maiden beauty, Ever in the New rejoicing, And the passing shades of sadness Every wing of bird above it, WHITTIER. My Sister. SUNNY and golden be The lot in store for thee; Peace smile upon thy path where'er thou goest; Health freshen on thy cheek Its vermil to bespeak How full and rich to thee each joy thou knowest. Blest, sister, be thy love- Yield pleasures young and new, Thine, sister, be for aye, Thy faith, this duty rare, Wilt prove, and, proving, turn to day all night. J. S. JENKINS. |